


Imitation.

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Horror, M/M, McLennon, first fic, teaser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Teaser of a fic I have been working on
Relationships: Billy Shears/John Lennon, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	Imitation.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my very first fic for any fandom. You can call me Marlene, and I hope that you all enjoy :) . I would like to read your comments and thoughts on what I wrote :)

The cold of John’s lonely room had never felt so suffocating. He couldn’t shake the sensation of cold, spindly fingers tapping up and down his arms as he tossed and turned on his mattress, unable to find comfort in his familiar bed. The chill in the air was like a blanket of terror, draping over his shivering form to cover him with the unease. He found himself constantly forgetting about Cynthia and Julian’s absence, and even their existence. The only tangible thought to manifest in his crumbling brain was the unshakable presence of- well, of a man that shall not be named.

Nights like these were becoming more frequent and proper rest days were few and far between. John hadn’t been able to properly sleep since Paul’s death.

A fiery retch tore from John’s throat and flung him off the mattress to bend over to the side of the bed and violently spit bile onto the carpet, unable to actually vomit. He was unable to finish any meal put in front of him, resulting in him not eating at all these days. It appeared that wave of sickness overtook his body every time he thought about or acknowledged Paul’s death. How was he supposed to heal if he got sick every time he thought about what happened? How was he expected to move on? Every day, a boiling stream of grief flooded his system in what felt like an attempt to kill him. There was only one name given to that heated stream, a name John refused to utter aloud despite it scattering through his head on a daily basis.

Billy Shears.

John slapped his hand over his mouth to stop another upchuck from happening as he pulled himself up onto his bed. The simple thought of that man’s name sent him into a cripple state of shock and pure abhorrence. His throat burned- and not only from the stomach acid attempting to climb up his neck, but from the overwhelming pain of holding back tears as well. His eyes were soon to follow in the burning sensation as the emotional dam clashed with his desire to not cry. The longer John fought back his emotions, the more he felt the tremble in his bought intensify and leave his hand vibrating. 

“Oh, g-god...oh no….” John reached up and clawed at his hair as he felt his body rock back and forth. He knew he must have been an insane sight, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Any comforting gesture to stop him from descending into madness was welcomed, no matter how bizarre it looked.

“Why... _ why?  _ Just-just... WHY?” John couldn’t help the stream of questions from spilling past his lips. He shakily rose to his knees, his unfocused eyes blinking rapidly at nothing in particular. “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO AND FUCKING DIE, PAUL?!  _ WHY!! _ GOD!!” 

Gut wrenching sobs ripped from his lungs as he collapsed forward. It wasn’t until that moment when John realized that he didn’t cry since Paul’s death; not once did he expel any emotions in regard to what happened to him. To what happened to Paul. 

He slammed his fist onto the bed, the soft surface not providing him the painful satisfaction he usually received whenever he punched a wall. With a growl, he shot up and blindly shot his fist out with the hopes to punch something...anything. He felt his fist land on the hardness he was seeking and felt a peep of a thrill until he heard the sharp cry of his young friend George. 

John blinked his eyes open blearily, squinting in the darkness as he poor vision attempted to focus on George doubling over and clutching his chest. Numb guilt tingled in his chest.

“Oh...I-I’m sorry, Geo-“

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” George spat, a rage in his eyes the likes John’s never seen in his friend. “Just- I… we’re worried, John.”

John slowly fell back onto his heels, trying to ignore the shake in his fist. “I’m sorry…”

“Christ, John! You’re not even yourself anymore!” Even through John’s spiraling insanity, he could detect the hurt and worry in George’s wide brown eyes. “What’s happened to you, John? Why won’t you tell us?”

John chewed at his bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. The taste of copper flooded his mouth the same way the bile was trying to earlier. He wanted terribly to tell George the truth. To tell the lad what happened to his brother- to his best mate. He wanted to be honest with his friend despite the living hell they all would be put through. He just wanted to be honest. But he couldn’t. So he merely pulled his knees to his chest and shook his head.

“No-nothing’s wrong.”

George scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s fucking bullshit.” He hissed as he turned to leave. John didn’t know if he was hearing things, but swore he heard George’s voice thicken with tears. “That’s bull- fucking- shit, John. And you think we’re bloody stupid.”

John frowned and laid his head on his knees as he allowed George to march towards his door, feeling powerless.

“I called Paul over.” George muttered before slipping out.

John shot up to his knees again, eyes so wide that they were threatening to pop from his skull. A tiny whine escaped his lips before he scrambled off the bed and went to run towards the door, nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to reach George. His heart hammered against his chest so intensely that he could hear the pounding in his ears. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say to George once he caught up with him, but he didn’t want to be left alone with  _ whoever the hell  _ it was that George summoned.

“George-  _ WAIT- _ “

John skidded to a stop when he came face to face with a tall, broad figure. He gaped up at the unpleasant and familiar body standing before him. Before him stood a man with the face of his true love, but the soul of the devil.

It was Billy Shears.

“What’s the matter, John? George called me over and-“

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!”

John made an attempt to dart past Billy, but was stopped by the strong hands gripping him to pull him back. One of the major differences between Paul and Billy was Billy’s slightly bulkier physique. How the others didn’t notice such a change was lost on John, but it made for a great obstacle whenever John tried to fight the younger man. John thrashed his head around as he tried to jerk his body away from Billy.

“LET ME GO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” John cried. “GEORGE! GEORGE,  _ PLEASE!!” _

Billy pulled John back into his room and gripped his shoulders. “John, love. I need you to calm down. Look at me- take deep breaths and-“

John spat in his face.

Billy didn’t respond, only stare down at John in a silent shock as he let the man’s saliva run down his cheek. The look in his dark eyes were cold enough to freeze John, but John didn’t allow it.

“Don’t call me “love”, you bastard. You’re a demon, a fucking  _ monster _ ! You  _ killer!”  _

“John. You really shouldn’t say things like that, baby.” Billy said. John sneered at him and attempted to snatch away his body.

“STOP CALLING ME THOSE NAMES!” John roared in his face. “YOU AREN’T ENTITLED TO SHIT! NOT ME, NOT THIS BAND, AND NOT TO-“

Billy pulled John close to press a soft kiss to the man's lips. The embrace only lasted a second, as John yanked his head away before lifting a hand to slap Billy in the face. A warm buzzing feeling danced around John’s chest at the sensation of those familiar lips pressed against his. He was starting to feel sick to his stomach at his body’s allowance to find pleasure in that.

“ _ Stop it, _ Billy!”

“That’s not my name. And you know it.”

“FUCK YOU!”

John let out a muffled scream at Billy gripping onto his waist to kiss him again, only this time more firmly. John slammed his fists onto Billy’s back as the kiss persisted, Billy tongue delving into John’s mouth. Words could not paint the disgust John was experiencing, nor could they express how violated he felt, especially the more wandering Billy’s hands became. John found himself starting to seek more of the kiss, his eyes clenched shut as he searched for a tangible memory of him and Paul doing the same thing only months ago. 

“That’s right.” Billy groaned against John. “Show me. Give me the memories.”

With that, John’s eyes shot open, a dreadful thought coming to his head. “W-what…”

Billy smirked down at him. “The more you give me...the more I’ll remember.”

John’s heart felt as though it gained 200 pounds before plummeting to his stomach. The grip Billy had on his hips suddenly felt like an iron vice as he attempted to escape.

“What...what are you?”

“I’m Paul McCartney...remember?” The voice whispered in John’s ear. “Always has been...always will be. The real question is: who are  _ you?” _

John gasped as the grip tightened while he tried to pull away. “S-shut up.”

“You’re  _ mine _ . Paul’s.”

“That’s- that’s not true- LET GO OF ME!”

“You seem to have a change in opinion, Johnny.” Came Billy’s soft voice. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

John fought back as he was dragged towards his bed. “No- please. No, no, no! I don’t  _ want  _ to!” The tears poured down John’s cheeks as he realized how futile his struggling was. “Billy- please! Don’t do this!”

“How come? It’s just like in the old days.” John felt his body grow limp against his will as the seconds passed by. All the fight he had left in him were seeping out of him and into Billy’s fingers

“No!” Was all John could respond with, but it was no use, as Billy already had him pinned to the bed and was pressing kisses up his throat. John froze in fear as his glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling. Something inside of him was telling him to fight back, that he  _ couldn’t  _ let this happen to him. Another part was telling him that there was no use in fighting, just as there was no use in winning. Another was telling him to just…

“ _ Let it be _ .”

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
